#vynlorin

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath by Kirkas Karaff Patreon rewards (https://twitter.com/kirkas_karaff).

#my oc #art #commission #vynlorin #void elf #world of warcraft

[myeternaltime]

Vynlorin by clayscence art

#art #illustration #fantasy art #fantasy #digital art

[actualsailboat]

Aleron & Vynlorin

#commission #world of warcraft #art #wow #original character #dnd #dnd5e #dungeons and dragons

[agilneanrose]

Delivered by courier along with a note. Lord Vynlorin Shandaumath,

Happy Nobleguarden! I pray the year has not been too chaotic for you.  Evelynn has once more included sticks of honey along with the decorated eggs. Spring has arrived and I am excited about it. We start off the holiday with Sir Folcard dressed as an egg-stealing goblin, it gets our keep's children riled up quite nicely.

Please tell me all is well on your side of Azeroth.

@shandaumath

[tamalas-art]

Finished a smaller personal piece for Valentine’s Day! My OC Vynlorin and a friend’s OC Aleron.

#my art #elf #warcraft #fan art #roleplay

[sonceri-mg]

Sword art for Vynlorin, Quel'dorei mage's blade later held by a Ren'dorei. For the World’s Faire Carnival 2023

#art #warcraft #warcraft rp #warcraft art #artists on tumblr

[prismspark]

When the Spark has Faded, Part I

((Written with the lovely @shandaumath - Find part 2 there!))

Vynlorin had made his way through the city and to the small apartments that the Bishop kept with no small amount of trepidation. The time was drawing near, that much was obvious. Rumours swirled, stories circulated - and already guesses were being made as to when it would happen. As to when Bishop Prismspark would make her final journey.

He arrived as the bishop had requested, but his steps lacked the boldness of presence that he carried with him in the city, in official affairs, in personal matters. His steps were soft, cautious, and filled with hesitation and dread; yet he did his best to retain the confidence he often held despite how it wavered in that moment as he turned down and made his way through the garden gate into the small enclosure where the Bishop was sat.

Kessanella Prismspark had performed many miracles in the political realm throughout her life and tenure. And now she had begun to perform miracles in other fields as well...For she somehow looked even worse than Vynlorin remembered her. She sat there on the bench, coddled in blankets and pillows. Where once was a strong gnome who would stare you in the eye and find the smallest look to call out? Now there was a bent and twisted thing, withered with age - more purple and blue over the bruised, withered skin of her arms than aught else. 

Mother Martinenche hovered nearby, sparing constant and worried glances in the direction of Her Grace. The Bishop herself was humming gently, seemingly tugging at the sleeve of her robes now and then - completely in a world of her own. At least by the humming, it was a happy one. 

The Bishop didn't hear Vynlorin’s approach, or at least didn't respond to it. Finally Martinenche leant over, voice soft. "Your grace..." Kessa's head slowly rose, peering in Martinenche's direction. "...Hmmm? What is it, Mother Rosewood?" 

A look of extreme hurt crossed Martinenche's face, but she merely pursed her lips - clearing her throat. Her next words were near silent, tears being choked back. "...Company." 

The Bishop blinked, a little frown as her eyes - long ago clouded from sight - peered about. "Oh, oh...I...No, we can't have company like this. We've not even lit the room. We must find some candles, yes...At least something to see with." 

Martinenche simply stood there, glancing to Vynlorin...Then glancing away. "...I'll....I'll find them, your grace." This seemed to please the Bishop, who nodded before returning to her soft humming and sleeve-picking.

Vynlorin paused in his steps as he watched the exchange, and a heavy question of all the universe's mysteries fell into his eyes, looking to Martinenche as if for an answer or guidance or -something-. But when silence fell between the two, the elf gently cleared his throat to announce that he was indeed standing there, and his eyes flitted onto Kessanella. "Bishop," he muttered, soft and hesitant. "It's good to see you."

The Bishop didn't glance to him when he called for the Bishop...She didn't even flinch. It took a few more moments of silence before Martinenche spoke up once more. "...Your grace. I - They're addressing you, your grace..." Kessa did glance up then. "Hm? Oh...Oh right, yes...I am - I was...Yes, right." She turned her head slowly to peer at Vynlorin.

The smile that crossed her face seemed quite real, quite happy - and so very foreign to the stern little Bishop. "Oh yes - Hello, Light's blessings, yes - that's the proper thing to say."

A little hum between her words. "Have we been introduced? No, no - Introductions must be done. They take a long time sometimes, though. Long name, though a good one. Did you know most of my names are from the children I helped deliver that went on to ordination? Yes, yes - Three became Bishops even - the first three. That's why I have the names, so I can pray for them each night. Very good, very good - Each night. Kessanella Henrietta Octavia..." 

A pause, brow furrowing. "...Octavia..It was-oh, it was..." Her brow furrowed, her gaze trailed - silence for an uncomfortable length. She'd eventually glance back up at him, smiling again. "Oh, hello. Yes, I think we had a meeting. We should start with introductions, those are always a good thing." 

Martinenche had closed her eyes by this point, glancing anywhere but at the pair.

Vynlorin swallowed deeply as the gnome went on with a hint that he had been forgotten, and the wound of the words began to spread through his chest. The weight that threatened to fall from his shoulders finally did fall with a heavy thud into his heart, and then its infection trickled into his throat where it tried to strangle his words.

"Vynlorin." A single word is all he could manage, and his composure threatened to shatter. Then he stepped forward, swallowed, blinked, and regain another breath of strength. "It's been a while."

Kessanella pressed her tongue against her lower teeth, frowning. "Vynlorin - Vynlorin, yes. That's a good name. Yes, no - Yes...I think it's a good name. I think...It's..."

Martinenche spoke up, almost hopeful. "...Baron Dreadmist?"

Kessa's face lit up then, a bright smile. "Oh yes, that's right .Yes - the same name as Baron Dreadmist. Yes, a good name, then." A happy hum, patting the spot on the bench beside her. "I'm to visit him soon, you know. The trip kept being put off. You shall have to come along, yes - It'll be a good joke, two of the same name together. Yes, he's good humoured you know, at the center. Bit of work, but good humoured."

Vynlorin thinned his lips, and his eyes sparkled with the moisture that dared to fight against him. When offered a seat, he slipped into it and kept his gaze forward where he could bite at his lips and flutter his lashes to try to shake the sorrow away. "Is he? I'm sure he would enjoy the visit." 

He paused then, space for a breath to slip up his nostrils, a moment for his finger to pick moisture from his eye. "You seem in good spirits. It's good to see."

Kessanella smiled as she heard him taking a seat. An old, withered, bruised and bandaged hand slowly trembled as it was lifted and moved towards him. As it sought out his own hand. "Oh no, I don't think he will. But I'll try..." She leant in, voice dropping as if sharing some great secret. "...He thinks I just want him to join the flock, you see."

She didn't bother trying to sit up, the old Bishop slumping slightly against Vyn as her attempts to find his hand continued. "But no, no. Sometimes I just think someone needs to know they're loved. It's a rare thing, you know. Oh no, many people will say it - but not many mean it...Not truly. Lord Quill has the same problem, you know. Thinks he doesn't deserve love."

Out came Vynlorin’s hand then, soft and warm and gentle for the old bishop's reach. His touch spoke a thousand words more than his tongue would let him, thumb brushing over the back of the bruised and aging hand.

He watched their touch meet and tried to focus on it, but his heart became strangled by her words. They made him bleed, and his eyes couldn't manage it. Again he smothered his tear ducts with a pinch until his gloves were thoroughly moistened. "Perhaps he knows. Sometimes people know, but pride keeps them from accepting it."

Kessanella leant there against him, though her head remained aloft, peering out over gardens she had long ago lost the ability to see. A little hum. "Oh yes, yes - He might. But it's not pride, no - he's not proud at heart I don't think, Baron Dreadmist. No, no - proud doesn't turn to things for its cure, but itself. Do you want to know what I think it is? I think he turns to them because he thinks he needs them, that he's broken." A click of her tongue. "A fool. No, no - he has it in him, he can grow and shine.” 

“That's what I always tried to tell him, you know…” A soft sigh escaped the Bishop. “...I'll have to tell him that when he visits. He doesn't need things to patch a break, there's not much of one there I shouldn't think. No, no - Just fallen in the dust, just needs brushing off. I've hoped to help him, you know. Do you think you'd like to help, when I go to visit him? I think I'm supposed to be visiting him soon."

Vynlorin wouldn't remove his finger now, holding it beneath his eyes wherever it needed to go to catch the next stray drop that tried to escape. At times his breathing stopped as he tried to keep from sniffing wads of snot upward, and for now he opted only to breathe with slow and calculated breaths through his mouth. His head nodded first to answer her. "...Yes." The word nearly cracked. "I don't know what I'd say, but I'll help. Whatever you need."

How the Bishop smiled at that, and now she let her head rest against his arm. "But here I am, talking about Baron Dreadmist to you, just because you share a name. No, no - That won't do." She canted her head slightly, still resting there against his shoulder, now peering up towards him - though her blind eyes saw not a bit of his display. 

She paused then as if she had caught something - that little catch in his voice perhaps. A frown, a look of worry. "...Is something wrong? Have...Have I upset you?" True concern began to blossom across her face. Her own voice suddenly sounded more feeble, as if she was about to cry as well. "I...I didn't. I am sorry, my child..." Her hand gave as firm a squeeze as it could. "How can I help you, what can I do?"

He was quick to shake his head, eyes turning away for a moment. "The cold weather," he chirped back. It was easier to speak when the topic wasn't about himself from a forgetful mind. One final brush against his eyes brought his relative composure back. "Quel'thalas is warm. I don't do well in the cold here. Forgive me."

Another sniff, and then the elf's reddened eyes peered down at the gnome. "This time is for you. I came to see how you're doing. ...How are you?" Intention fell into the words -- intent to be strong, and intent to truly know how the bishop felt despite how she seemed.

Kessanella would never have been fooled by such a weak play before - she never would have let it slip like that. But now? Now she gave a happy little hum, a nod. "Oh, yes...Yes - I imagine so. I think, no - it was never like that in Lordaeron..." Her other trembling hand came up, shaking as she seemed to lift it towards him, trying to use her sleeve to dab at his face, his nose...All very poorly, and it was easily stopped if he turned or pushed her arm away...Though it would reward him with a look of sincere hurt from the Bishop.

"No, no - we must get you a winter coat. That'll do it - a winter coat and some ear muffs. I think that's perfect." A pause at the final question, taking her time to consider it - a hum. "Oh, well...I feel...tired, I think. Tired, yes - tired. Just a bit, though. I think I shall be as right as rain soon enough." 

Vynlorin didn't turn away. He had no mind to refuse the bishop anything, and so he let her dab away wherever she could reach. His eyes skipped over to Martinenche and found her in as poor a state as himself, but he found some quip to try to chase the emotions away.

"It's hard to find ones that fit," the elf retorted on the topic of ear muffs. "But a coat might do me good. I don't have a proper one." Then he drew in a deep breath, held it, and looking the bishop in the eyes. "If you're tired, you should rest. You've worked hard." It pained him, so he dabbed his own eyes again.

The Bishop had settled back to resting there, leaning against him - head against his shoulder. "Hm. I don't...I don't think I've often rested, no. It doesn't feel right. Besides - I might miss my trip to visit Baron Dreadmist. I've not gone yet, that won't be much good. I'll do my best to find good earmuffs tomorrow, though...I think the market's tomorrow, yes...I'll find some there, I'm sure. A good coat, too. That way, you can come visit Baron Dreadmist with me."

He looked away again when she spoke of him, and he shook his head. "He'll understand," he started, words struggling again as if speaking through a hand wrapped around his throat. "Rest is important. He'll understand--" The words choked. "--if you're late. He'll understand."

Kessanella gave a slow little nod of her head. "Yes, yes. I'm sure he will..." A little pause. "...I'm sure you will." She let her eyes flutter shut as she leant further against him, a heavy sigh escaping her. "You're not broken, Vynlorin. You just need a little bit of polish."

Vynlorin stuttered a breath out. His chest shook against Kessanella, and he wouldn't turn his eyes back to her; instead, his sorrow dripped down his cheeks, and his fingers couldn't catch it all. So much tumbled through his chest and tangled within his mind, but he couldn't find the strength to unravel it all. The only words he could find were simple ones -- ones that didn't convey everything he had hoped to say to the bishop, but they were enough. "--...I know…Thank you."

She didn't seem to acknowledge his thanks, 'nor return a welcome to them. The silence would drag on. Eventually though Vynlorin might realize it. He wouldn't be receiving that welcome, he'd not have to leave a place at the table. And he'd never have to be called a child again.

Kessanella Prismspark had passed on, a soft smile on her face as she leant against him - there on her favourite bench in the gardens she knew so well.

((Continued here!))

#moonguard #moon guard #roleplay #alliance #world of warcraft #wow #wow rp

[aedindaypost]

A neatly tied together bouquet of white and yellow roses, petals dusted with a gold glitter, would be placed down unto the wet grass. A glittering gold ribbon wrapped around and laced together into a bow, holding the brown paper in place to ensure not a stem or petal lay out of place. The sound of rain would drown out any and all thoughts, the drops pelting the ground and the black parasol held in place. From a distance, nothing could be spotted; vision obscured by the wall of rain blocking all sight.

Isolated.

Aside from the figure of a priest and outline of a headstone, soaked and coated in patches of moss and vines. Against the stone was the worn etchings of a name and date, near unreadable save for the 'Daypost' peaking from the vines.

A sigh would be heard from the priest, reaching to adjust his tinted lenses 'fore taking them off all together, the arms folding in and being tucked away. Eyes barren would now stare out at the decrepit sight, a heavy sorrow weighing down his heart the longer he stared.

"Mother," Thalassian rolled from his tongue, smooth and natural. Silence spilled over, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to speak. "... I often find myself wondering.." The hand that clutched his parasol would tremble. "Would you be proud of me? As I am now?" A gloved hand extended forward, running down the lichen coated surface. "Addled with such... Affliction. So many look down on us for it --"

There was a pause, Aedin's eyes going lidded as he found himself in yet another trance. One of many, these days. In this haze, he'd settle himself on the ground next to the stone, uncaring if he'd gotten wet or dirty. His head would tilt to the side, cheek resting against the cold surface. So many voices swimming in an unending sea made it so difficult for him to voice his grievances or upsets anymore.

'She would shun you if she were still living.'

'Such a disappointment, you are.'

'Why don't you just turn back and go home?'

In the midst of his trance would the rain finally stop, going unnoticed to the elf as he sat there on the verge of tears. His parasol would slip from his hand and onto the ground beside him, rolling and coming to a stop on the grass. Storm clouds would part and roll forward, likely carrying it's wrath south into the Ghostlands. Heavy was the scent of earth and mud on his nose, the air growing sticky as a wave of heat would wash through the forests outside Silvermoon.

A sniff would follow, letting the smell of wet grass tickle his senses before blinking away whatever tears wanted to bubble up. That well had dried up long ago. As difficult as it was on his own, doing as Vynlorin instructed and focusing solely on his own words that ping-ponged in his head.

"Stars.." He'd press a hand into his eye, rubbing his palm into the surface. "I almost lost myself there.." His hand would pull away, turning his head to look down at the stone. "I am sure you will not mind," Aedin spoke with a slight warble to his voice. ".. I will linger here. For just a bit longer." There was no response from the stone.

After a few seconds, a gentle gust of the salt-heavy air from the sea to the east. It'd rustle and shift the priests hair and trees, rustling the branches and leaves. A single golden leaf would break away from its home and flutter down, flitting and flying about in the air 'fore finally landing onto the priests knee. He'd jolt at this, eyes widening a slight before a soft expression bloomed over his face as he plucked up the leaf.

"Thank you, mother."

[nivathostin]

Artist: https://www.deviantart.com/nyaka-n

Commission of my alt @shandaumath

#art #art commisions #void elf #ren'dorei #inquisitor #master torturer #vynlorin

[aredheleravenwing]

House Valtieri fighting with their brothers and sisters of the Alliance, for the love of the Kingdom. Conquest campaign 2020

#I stole Vynlorins photos

[shandaumath]

Vynlorin Shandaumath and his internal struggles against Void corruption. Artist: https://twitter.com/musetheart

#my oc #art #commission #vynlorin #void elf

[bloodofthedepths]

An Endless Nothing

“This will be all over soon...”

A weightlessness began to surround Ithildir and the fragile state that he was in as the encroaching dark slipped through his fingers. Time felt as if it had gone on and on without the elf that had been cast to the abyss that awaited him. A vacuum that harnessed each mistake and transgression taken against another was all that waited for Ithildir. 

“Where...am I? Wha- what is this?” Ithildir’s heart had been racing to keep up with every thought that culminated in an attempt to figure out exactly where he had been. However, the explanation had been lost within the endless dark before him. 

“Hello?” Ithildir called out once and briefly waited for a reply. His ears twitched in anticipation for a reply that never came before his chest expanded in preparation for the air that was bout to be expended. “Hello?!” The words shot out in front of the broken elf  and echoed in the expanding nothingness until silence filled the empty space once more. Frantically, Ithildir turned to see what was behind him before he had realized that no matter where he looked he was surrounded by an infinite nothing. The empty space gnawed at his attention until he felt his gaze being drawn to the epicenter of the darkness that engulfed him.

“My Lord? Ithildir?”

“Rosemarri!? Where are you?!” Ithildir hysterically turned  this way and that to attempt to find Lady Sunshield, but to no avail. 

“Why did you abandon us, My Lord?” The disappointed tone echoed around the suspended elf as if it had been the abyss itself, shaking Ithildir to the core and leaving his heart aching.

“No! I would never! You must believe me!” Ithildir had finally decided to close his eyes in a desperate attempt to escape the punishing view around him. Focusing on Rosemarri’s voice, he continued to plead to her for understanding and forgiveness. “My love, please.”

A deafening silence filled the voice once more and robbed Ithildir of a response and slowly the endless void began to split. A brilliant light far to bright to gaze upon had begun to shine through the dark and heralded an unfamiliar voice. 

“He is waking up. Let Master Shandaumath know. Quickly.”

Slowly, Ithildir eye’s pried themselves open and subjected himself to the lingering agony he had endured. Dimly illuminated hues continued to stare at the ceiling as the same unfamiliar voice called out once more. “Lord Fala’andu. . .Can you hear me?”

Ithildir glanced down to his chest and noted the numerous carvings in his flesh. It was in that instant that he had been reminded of the past week that he had spent in Vynlorin’s clutches. All of it had been true. No matter how badly he had wished for his suffering to be nothing more than a dream, he knew that he would not be spared. A hollowness began to dig at the broken elf until a tear dripped down the side of his cheek and fell into the pillow beneath his head. Silent sobs caused his chest to abruptly rise and fall until an agonizing yell of frustration and mourning filled the guest room and echoed down the hall.

“Please, my lord. You must rest. Save your energy.” The subtle cooing that came from the unknown silhouette only caused Ithildir to dwell further on what had happened to him, though his yelling had died down to an aggrieved groan. “I would ask that you not move, Lord Fala’andu. You need to rest and allow your wounds to heal properly. When Master Shandaumath is ready, he will speak with you. Until then, you are to remain in here and in my care.” A brief breath is taken as the Doctor rose from his seat and began to move towards the door. “I’ll fetch a meal for you.” A brief pause is taken as the door opens and the Doctor stands within the room’s threshold. “Again. Do not try to move. I will return momentarily.”

All the while, Ithildir thought of the punishment that he would endure if he attempted to get up and flee from the room. As the thought crossed his mind, the subtle sound of the door locking echoed within the room. Each movement that was made had been a testament to the torment he suffered. Foregoing his plan to sit up, Ithildir simply stared at the ceiling and resisted the temptation to close his eyes once more. “I will return to you, my love. Do not abandon me. I beg you to allow me to give you what is left of me...” Still, the tears fell from the corner of Ithildir’s eyes down to the pillow beneath him until they were no more. Unfortunately, the drugs that he had been given had not completely run their course. It had only been a matter of minutes before Ithildir’s eyes closed and the empty darkness engulfed him once more. Within the guest room only mumbled pleas could be heard as the broken elf attempted to reason with his own psyche. Trapped in a seemingly endless loop of guilt and resentment. 

( Mentions: @shandaumath and @agilneanrose​ )

[singingshadows]

Master Vynlorin Shandaumath,

I hope that this letter finds you in high spirits, or that it finds you at all.

I have replaced my scrying orb entirely, as the damage to the other was so profound that repair was unable to be attained. No matter, of course. However now, should you choose to bare witness to the various Threads that I have mentioned. Who would you like to spy upon, I wonder? What paths would you like to trifle with? Or is this merely a matter of study? No probability is certain as of yet. I’ll make certain to prove useful, whatever the case is or turns into.

My services as Eyes have been lent to you, and shall remain discreet. These same services will be lent to Lady Aredhele. Yet whatever inquiries you have upon the ever-unfurling paths shall not cross her ears lest they be from your lips.

Lastly, I do hope I can earn your forgiveness for the end of our last meeting. Selfish as I am, the paths are rendered useless if I offend you beyond repair. Tender as you are in the public eye, I can recognize ire when it is sparked, as delicious as ire can be.

Until we meet again, do stay safe.

-𝐿𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑆𝑦𝑙𝑣𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒 𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡

@shandaumath

[agilneanrose]

Lord Vynlorin Shandaumath, I must, once more, begin this letter by asking you to forgive my forwardness. There is much happening in our world and much more, it seems, demanding attention.  My thoughts, when reflecting on all that has happened and all that is to come, have strayed to you and your wellbeing. However bold it is to ask - I must: Have you taken a breath, my lord? A deep one? When last we traded letters, we both ached for the kingdom that was failing its people and we both realized that our views were and perhaps would always be outliers. So, I ask you simply out of concern - is your piece of this world better from what has happened? Does the end of the conflict within our kingdom bring you any peace? Have you and yours survived? The north calls, do you answer? Alterac through Commander Zaria calls for aid and my siblings march to battle once again. Though, I suspect it is an odd feeling for them to be fighting alongside the very people that they fought against only a month ago and the same people that call for our father’s demise now. Alas, my family holds a deep, deep respect for the Commander and if she has a need, we will answer as we can.  There is no peace when the world has needs, I suppose. I leave this letter with a simple thank you in regard to the last message you sent. Knowing there was another in this sea of political chaos that felt the same as I... was comforting when for a moment I felt very, very alone.

@shandaumath​

#Hi #you okay over there? #Just checking on you. #Did you know his nickname is Shasha when the letter is first written then she writes his long ass name last.

[tamalas-art]

Oops, forgot to post this on actual Valentine’s Day. Vynlorin enjoying his favorite Valentine’s Day pastime.

#my art #sketch #world of warcraft #ren'dorei #void elf #vynlorin

[narintheitarael]

Resurrection

It turned out, being brought back from the dead was harder than he’d imagined it would. Between everyone else’s surprise and upset, or relative joy and elation, and trying to piece back some sense of normalcy, like a home and daily routine, Narin often would catch himself standing idly as crowds of people swarmed around him, lost in thought. 

The worst thing was that each night since his return, his head never lay in the same place twice. He needed gold, and he needed a stable home, and he needed both quickly. Looking back, he felt perhaps he’d been a bit rash in the decision to burn the manor. 

Regret, regret, regret. Between the hurt he’d caused others with his disappearance, the life he’d left in shambles when he departed, and coming face to face with Seraanna once more, it was if every mistake he’d ever made had raised its head all at once. 

Annitia was the one bright note in all of it though. Her happiness to see him again made his heart ache when he thought of how hurt she must have been when she heard of his untimely “death”. Between her and Cerusani, his hands would be full with amends to be made. The others could wait for now. Or they wouldn’t, and the damage would be done, but he could only spread himself so thin before he’d start to come apart again.

With a sigh, he looked to his shoulder where Vincent’s blade had caught him that first night. Between the vials he drank to speed his mending, and his own handiwork with a needle, he was confident the scar would fade quickly. He didn’t blame any of them for what happened. Everyone acted in their role, and despite everything, he knew it could have gone much worse. 

Tirian seemed more serious than before, and Primrose was... well she was still Primrose. His brow furrowed at that thought. Based on the awful noises she’d made when his flashbang had gone off, perhaps he should add her to the priority list of apologies to be made. Aredhele and Vynlorin didn’t seem changed much, despite her insistence that things were different. Barirn was as always overbearing and insistent, but Narin had plans to deal with him if the time came. A twinge of cowardice made him flinch inwardly as he considered how many times he was likely to be asked about his disappearance and sudden return, and how much he really didn’t want to keep going over it. 

Still, it was his bed, and he must lie in it. With that final thought, Narin strode through the city once more, looking for where he’d take his next room and meal for the evening.